


Hey, what rhymes with Cerdig? A celebration of our wonderful fandom

by ideserveyou



Category: Arthur of the Britons
Genre: Crack, F/M, Humour, M/M, Multi, Poetry, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 17:40:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideserveyou/pseuds/ideserveyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I don't often write poetry but when I do, I like it to be funny. Written on the occasion of the first anniversary of the 'arthur_britons' LJ community and paying homage to that great work of English poetic literature, 'Eskimo Nell'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey, what rhymes with Cerdig? A celebration of our wonderful fandom

_When men grow old and their balls go cold and the tips of their tools turn blue…_

When it’s weak and wonky like Morpeth’s donkey, they’ll tell you a tale or two.

So pour me some mead and lend me a cloak and find a bench to sit on,

And I’ll do my worst to compose a verse about ‘Arthur of the Britons’.

 

Long time ago they made this show, and it’s still worth celebrating:

Arthurian fables, but no round tables or castles or armour plating.

No jousting knights, just gritty fights with sweaty horseback action,

And mud and straw, a village poor… so what is the attraction? 

 

AOTB hits the spot for me, a fandom rich and rare;

It may be small but it’s got it all, with hotness and angst to spare.

Its many flaws don’t give us cause to gripe – in fact we love them –

Plotholes and cuts and vehicle ruts: the cast can rise above them.

 

Arthur and Kai, they get us high whenever they touch each other;

You don’t need specs to see it’s sex – these two are more than brothers.

We love their faces, their riding races, their tight well-fitting breeches;

We feast our eyes on slim strong thighs and bums like perfect peaches.

 

The slasher’s thrill is to try to fill in the bits the programme’s missing.

They’re face to face – our pulses race – any second now they’ll be kissing…

But director and crew say the scene is through, and the boys are out of luck;

They’ve missed a trick – hooray for our fic, or they’d never get to fuck!

 

Arthur’s the leader, a handsome bleeder with eyes like the midnight sky;

He shares battles and rides and more besides with his big blond brother Kai.

He’s a confident man and his crappest plan will somehow be successful;

Kai loves him dearly and quite sincerely although it’s sometimes stressful.

 

Kai’s hair is gold, his heart is bold, his smile is wide and bright

(Perhaps at the thought of some brotherly sport in the Longhouse late at night).

Stripped to the waist, he is much to our taste as we watch his muscles ripple;

It’s only research, but it makes our hearts lurch, as we catch a glimpse of nipple.

 

Now here comes Llud through the sleet and mud on his way to a one-night stand;

He’ll win you a battle or knock out your cattle by the strength of his Silver Hand.

He’s a stalwart Dad to our lovely lads and he always does his best,

Though he’s getting old and must feel the cold in his single threadbare vest!

 

Mark is proud and his voice is loud and he cuts a striking figure;

Puffs out his chest and claims he’s best (and he thinks his cock is bigger).

This Cornish bull is always full of fighting talk and cunning;

When he sounds beguiling, politely smiling, you know you should be running…

 

Rolf the Preacher’s a sinful creature, with straw in his long black hair,

And he and Mark meet after dark in their kinky underwear.

They writhe together in studs and leather in a seething, sweaty heap

Or persuade a horse to do something coarse before they fall asleep.

 

The Saxon Cerdig [ _Hey, what rhymes with Cerdig?]_

 _[Let’s try that again, shall we…_ ]

Here’s an enemy creep dressed in dead sheep and a belt with a sharpened axe on.

He’s not very big but his bad blond wig tells you that he’s a Saxon.

He’s come to pillage the Celtic village with his artful leader Cerd-

ig who made us cry when he held our Kai as hostage for Arthur’s herd.

[ _No, you’re right, that wasn’t very good, but I didn’t see the Minstrel do any better!_ ]

 

Amlodd the monk is getting drunk and feasting on roast boar;

With cheerful greed he swigs his mead and lifts his mug for more.

All night he’ll snore on the Longhouse floor among the straw and rushes,

Fast asleep, while the Wood People sweep with their woolly toilet brushes.

 

It would be wrong to end this song without mentioning Rowena,

And Yorath her dad, who’s not so bad, though his manners could be cleaner.

Arthur’s quite keen but rather green about womenfolk and wooing;

Though if you or I shared a room with Kai… well… what would YOU be doing?

 

Our community here has been going a year, which calls for celebration;

Whether readers or writers, the thing to unite us is our total dedication.

So raise your glass as you sit on your arse in front of your DVD:

While we’re alive, may the Longhouse thrive! And here’s to AOTB!


End file.
